


Healing Touch

by KucatsHouse



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Book 1: City of Bones, Hurt Alec Lightwood, M/M, POV Magnus Bane, Warlock Magnus Bane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 06:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20092618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KucatsHouse/pseuds/KucatsHouse
Summary: A mysterious fire message calls Magnus to the Institute to heal Alec from Greater Demon poisoning.





	Healing Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Characters and original story concept the property of Cassandra Clare.
> 
> This story is from Magnus' point of view and centers around the little mentioned healing scene towards the end of City of Bones.

_Magnus Bane,_  
_Come to the New York Institute._  
_Alexander Lightwood has been poisoned by a Greater Demon. He needs healing.   
_ _Please hurry._

_There is no one else to trust._

The fire message had come in a blaze of green flames, twisting and spiraling its way in the air before hovering before Magnus’ face. Gold cat eyes scanned the elegant scrawl before the message flared out and fell away to ash. Magnus slowly set down the glass he had been sipping from and turned to his apartment windows, staring out at the night.

Alexander Lightwood. 

He was familiar with the name; it had once belonged to another Shadowhunter over a hundred years ago. Magnus could only assume that the Alexander of this century was one of the Shadowhunters who had crashed his party the other night, although he could only speculate. Other than Clary, he hadn’t bothered to ask for any of their names. Cat eyes narrowed as Magnus attempted to recall which one of the boys it was. 

Not the one who was turned into a rat. He certainly wasn’t one of the Angel’s children. No Shadowhunter, even a child, was careless enough to consume anything at a Downworld party.

He was certain Alexander wasn’t the golden haired boy, though his arrogance was certainly a trait many Lightwoods had shared. Clary had called him something else - Trace was it? Either way, Magnus was certain it wasn’t him. That left…

The blue eyed boy. 

Him Magnus remembered very clearly. From the moment Magnus had opened his door and laid eyes on the boy, he had been unable to look away. Black hair, blue eyes, tall with pale skin - his favorite combination. Magnus had watched him discreetly as he moved amongst the party goers. Like all Nephilim, he was lithe and graceful in his movements; Alexander was young but already had the movements of someone accustomed to demon hunts and battles. He had appeared to the warlock as one who did more damage to his opponents than they to him.

And yet, he had just received a fire message that spoke of certain death.

Greater Demon poison…unless the boy received magical aid, he would almost certainly die. The Silent Brothers would be called, but for all their knowledge there were still some things even beyond their capabilities. It would take the magic of a warlock to undo the poison’s work. Who better than one talented in the healing arts, and the son of another Greater Demon no less? 

The situation was a dire one, and yet Magnus hesitated. It had been a very long time since Magnus had felt anything but contempt for any Shadowhunter. Not since London had he known any worthy of his time; only the Whitelaws had managed to earn his deep respects since. There was also the matter that this Alexander was the son of the Lightwoods. His relationship with the family had deteriorated over the years. Magnus’ memory of Robert and Maryse in particular was far from fond. He had been forced to deal with them from time to time over the years considering their positions in their respective circles. They had always been pleasant and polite, but there wasn’t any sort of affection on Magnus’ part. He had no desire to help anyone of that family - outside of a paid contract.

But the boy wasn’t his parents, that much Magnus had seen at the party. Alexander had reacted with nothing but sympathy at the tale of Magnus’ childhood when most other Shadowhunters showed indifference to the plight of warlocks. Magnus got the impression that the boy was more in tune with his emotions than other Nephilim were. 

Regardless, no one deserved to die in agony.

With a growl of irritation - mostly at himself - Magnus snapped his fingers, the sound sharp and resonating. A Portal began to swirl into existence, beginning as a pinprick of light before growing to the size of a large doorway. With a deep breath, Magnus stepped through…

…and came out on the lawn in front of the Institute. 

Without preamble, his strides long and hurried, Magnus made his way to the entrance, the wards letting him through easily. The rickety elevator gate ground noisily as Magnus shut it with a bang before it began to rise steadily. As the elevator stopped, a familiar gray Persian cat sat on the floor of the foyer before him. The cat was eyeing Magnus with a look of displeasure, his tail swishing back and forth in impatience, a low growl sounding from his throat.

“Church,” Magnus greeted with a nod of his head. “It’s been a while.” 

Church made a yowling sound as if agreeing before he got to his feet, turned, and bounded quickly down the hallway. Magnus didn’t hesitate, his hurried footsteps echoing in the silent halls as he followed the cat. The pair may not always get along, but Magnus trusted Church, and the cat always knew where people needed to be.

The closer they came to the infirmary, the more he could make out the sounds of someone speaking. Magnus could only hear one feminine voice, but he assumed others were present by the tone and manner of speaking. As they rounded a corner and came to an open door, Magnus could see Isabelle Lightwood pleading with a Silent Brother. Another Brother was bending over a prone and bandaged body on a bed. 

“Please! You have to help him!” Tears had streaked down Isabelle’s cheeks; she didn’t bother to wipe them away, her hands tight fists where they clutched the parchment robes of the nearest Brother. She must have been desperate, Magnus thought, as most Shadowhunters gave the Brothers a wide berth, keeping a physical distance from them out of respect and unconscious fear.

The heels of his boots clicked rhythmically as he stepped into the room. Almost as one, all heads turned to Magnus, one pair of black eyes and two shuttered pairs fixing on him. Magnus didn’t know why, but under their scrutinizing gazes he suddenly felt angry. There was a boy dying amongst them, and yet they were all staring at him. Rationally, Magnus knew they were doing everything they could, but the anger bubbled within him nonetheless. At his sides, his fingers twitched and suddenly became writhe in bright blue flames.

“Get out,” Magnus said. His voice was low, his tone neutral but his eyes spoke of unpleasant experiences if they didn’t comply. Despite the dim illumination, his pupils had constricted to the barest of dark slits, belying his simmering anger.

_Magnus Bane_, resonated a voice in his head. _The boy needs healing_.

“Yes, I’m quite aware. That’s why I’m here. Now, if you would be so kind…” 

“How did you know?” Isabelle interrupted. Her voice was barely a whisper but it seemed to carry across the infirmary. “How did you know Alec was hurt?”

Magnus didn’t reply, fixing Isabelle with a narrow eyed gaze. So, she hadn’t been the one to send the message. It was a politely worded summons, not something he would have expected from teenagers. The Silent Brothers clearly hadn’t called on Magnus. Interesting…

“Leave, all of you. I won’t ask again.” The fire in his hands flared suddenly as the witchlights flickered from white to red then white again.

Without another word, the Silent Brothers made for the door. Isabelle hurriedly followed in their wake; as she swept past him, Isabelle caught Magnus’ eye, silently mouthing thanks before leaving. Magnus waved a hand, the door slamming shut and locking with a resounding click before he turned his focus on his patient. In five long strides he was by the bed, peering down at Alec with an expression that appeared calm and collected.

Magnus was anything but calm at that moment.

“Well, this doesn’t look good,” he murmured to no one in particular. His eyes were darting left and right, pupils slowly dilating as Magnus took in the extent of Alec’s injuries.

Alec had been stripped of his gear and clothes from the waist up. His skin had been cleaned and bandaged, but the damage was great. Where the blood was rapidly seeping through the white linens, Magnus could make out the claw marks Abbadon had left behind. Black and green tinged veins were beginning to spread across his body as the poison traveled in his blood. There was a thin layer of sweat on his skin, which was flushed a bright red with fever. As Magnus hovered a hand over his chest, he could feel the heat radiating from Alec’s skin, sense the erratic heartbeat. Behind closed lids, Alec’s eyes were moving frantically from a fever induced dream. His lips were dry and cracked, quivering as Alec murmured mostly unintelligible words. There was one phrase Magnus did catch, whispered between rasping breaths.

“…I love you…”

Dark eyebrows shot up before Magnus’ expression softened. “Well, I would say I’m flattered, but I know you aren’t talking to me.” He cast a sideways glance at Church, who had settled himself on a nearby table. “Maybe he means you.” The Persian gave Magnus one long, very annoyed stare before curling into a tight, fuzzy ball and promptly ignoring everything in the room.

Alec may have been a Shadowhunter, descended from one of the greatest Shadowhunter families, but Greater Demon poison was indiscriminate. And it worked very fast.

This was going to be a difficult task. Not an impossible one, but it wouldn’t be easy.

With a resounding clap, Magnus rubbed his hands together, magic swirling up to his elbows. His eyes seemed to glow as he placed one hand over Alec’s chest just above his sternum as the other gently cupped Alec’s cheek. Magic flowed from Magnus’ hands, rippling like blue waves as it traveled over Alec’s body. A crackling sound like live wires echoed as red sparks ignited in the air; Abbadon may have been defeated, but his poison in Alec’s veins still attempted to repel the warlock’s magic.

For long minutes, Magnus focused only on his magic and healing. A sheen of sweat beaded on his brow and his arms felt heavy. Pressing his lips tightly together, he poured as much healing magic as he could spare into Alec, noting with some pleasure that the black veins were slowly dissipating. He could hear Church faintly, the hissing and yowling indicating his displeasure at the electricity in the air. At one point, a resonating boom sounded overhead, the witchlights shaking as dust dislodged and fell like gray snow. Magnus ignored it, ignored everything, his attention solely on Alec and his work. 

A low, pain laced moan sounded. His head snapped to the left just as a hand clamped down on his wrist, gripping hard. Blue eyes opened slowly, looking around the room in a delirious daze before alighting on Magnus.

“It hurts,” Alec said. His voice sounded stretched thin, full of agony. There was a slight glaze to his eyes as he stared at Magnus. His chest was rising in an uneven rhythm beneath Magnus’ hand, his breathing a stuttering staccato. Magnus couldn’t tell if Alec could see him or if he was experiencing a hallucination from the poison.

“I know,” Magnus replied, his voice soothing and even. His thumb stroked Alec’s cheek, the movement soft and light. “I’m going to help with that.” He gave a small smile of reassurance before turning his attention back to his work. Magnus noticed with some relief that Alec’s body relaxed just a fraction. It wasn’t much, but it meant less resistance for his magic. 

Closing his eyes, Magnus grit his teeth as he released more of his magic. His lips moved rapidly, forming words but any sound was drowned out by the warring magics. A bright vibrant sapphire glow engulfed Magnus’ hands, pulsating and ebbing from his fingertips before sinking into Alec. The magic gilded the Shadowhunter, creating a glittering halo around his body. Slowly, as they weakened and became overwhelmed, the red sparks of Abbadon’s poison began to dissipate, swallowed by waves of blue.

As the last spark of poison was consumed, Magnus’ shoulders sagged, a deep sigh leaving him. The heavy feel of magic in the air subsided, as did the glow around Alec’s body. Magnus took a deep cleansing breath, letting it out slowly through his nose. The pale runed skin under his hands was warm, no longer feverish. When he opened his eyes, Magnus was glad to see the color of Alec’s skin was a normal, poison-free hue. The Shadowhunter’s eyes were closed, his breathing even and steady in a healing sleep. But the hand on Magnus’ wrist still maintained a fierce grip; he couldn’t escape without wrenching away and waking Alec. Magnus was, quite literally, held captive for the time being.

Ah well, he didn’t have anything better to do.

With his free hand, Magnus summoned a chair, table, and a glass of water. He sat slowly, wearily, leaning his elbow on the table as he sipped from the glass and monitored Alec’s breathing. The expression on Alec’s face was peaceful, his features relaxed in sleep. 

Watching Alec recalled memories of another time, another city, and another boy with black hair and blue eyes that Magnus had watched sleeping. Different families and over a hundred years separated them, yet Alec and Will were much alike in some ways; in others, they were vastly different. Perhaps it was simply the fact that they were both Shadowhunters, but Magnus got the sense that the one thing they had in common was loving their family and friends too much. He didn’t know the details, but Magnus suspected Alec’s injuries were due to protecting someone.

Setting his glass down, Magnus reached over, brushing a wayward strand of hair out of Alec’s eyes. The long lashes fluttered for a moment before blue eyes opened, the gaze unfocused. He licked his still too dry lips and tried to speak.

“Shush,” Magnus said gently as he stood. Alec still had a tight grip on his wrist but he was able to move his hand to the back of Alec’s head and prop him up gently. Magnus grabbed the water glass and placed it against Alec’s lips. “Drink, you need it.” Tilting the glass, he watched as Alec slowly sipped the water. After a few swallows, Magnus helped Alec lie back down before checking his vitals. He noticed the blue eyes following his every movement.

“Am I…” Despite the water, Alec’s throat still felt dry. He tried to swallow to clear it and speak but Magnus shook his head.

“Don’t speak,” he said, his voice taking on a patient tone. “The poison’s gone, but you need to rest and heal.”

“Is everyone all right?”

Magnus resisted the urge to roll his eyes but he was smiling. He was right, so like Will, obstinately worrying about everyone else. “Everyone’s fine. Now sleep.” His fingers made small circles at the back of Alec’s neck, the motion meant to be soothing. There was a soft sigh as Alec closed his eyes and relaxed into Magnus’ touch, his head turning slowly in the warlock’s direction. In a few moments the Shadowhunter was sleeping again, his features relaxing.

He reclaimed his seat, summoning a book and a crystal pitcher of water. Magnus had just opened the leather bound tome when a knock sounded on the door, followed by the sound of shuffling feet. Waving a hand in a lazy gesture, Magnus listened as the lock clicked open before the door swung inwards. Isabelle stood at the threshold and nervously peered inside, not certain if she should enter. He turned just enough to look over his shoulder at her and offered a smile.

“He’s sleeping,” Magnus said quietly. “He’ll be fine.” Magnus watched as Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief, her whole body relaxing visibly. She dashed into the room and made her way to her brother’s bedside, the heels of her boots clicking loudly. Her hand trembled slightly as Isabelle checked Alec’s temperature and breathing.

“He’s really going to be okay?” Isabelle asked, her voice sounding lost and small but hopeful.

Magnus nodded as he absently turned some pages in his book. “He’ll sleep tonight and should wake in the morning. It’ll be a couple of days at least before he’s completely back on his feet.” Resting his chin on his hand, Magnus watched as Isabelle worried over her sibling, her hands nervously smoothing the sheets over Alec’s sleeping form.

“If you hadn’t come,” she began, her dark eyes locking onto Magnus. “If you hadn’t saved my brother, I don’t know what I would have done if…” 

“Don’t dwell on the notion. It doesn’t do you any good to think about unpleasant what-ifs at this point.”

Isabelle nodded and fell silent. For a few minutes she simply stood, gazing down at Alec as he slept on. Magnus looked away and concentrated on his book, giving her a measure of privacy. After some time, Isabelle’s expression changed; it became the look of a Shadowhunter who had a job to do.

“I can’t stay,” she said with some reluctance. “The library looks as if a bomb went off and everyone’s gone. I have to find out what happened.” Despite her words, Isabelle didn’t move an inch. The conflict was clear in her eyes, the desire to stay with her brother warring with the need to fulfill her Angelic duty.

“Go,” Magnus said, waving at the door. “Go do your duty, Shadowhunter. I’ll stay with him.”

“But…” Isabelle pressed her lips together, smothering her words of protest at the stern look Magnus aimed at her. She nodded before making for the door, dark hair trailing in her wake. Stopping on the threshold, Isabelle took one last look at her brother and his savior before leaving, shutting the door behind her.

Left alone again with his patient, Magnus sat quietly, absently staring out a window at the twinkling lights of New York. How many times had he come to the aid of Shadowhunters? How many times had he saved them from their own recklessness? More times than Magnus could remember. It was the pay, really, that had persuaded Magnus to help the Nephilim; they paid him handsomely for his magical services, there was no doubt. Oftentimes, the money was the only reason Magnus even bothered with the Clave.

This time was different. He didn’t know Alec - they had barely spoken at the party - but Magnus felt drawn to him. There was something about the eldest Lightwood that attracted him, something far beyond his good looks. There was a quiet solidity about Alec, a certain quality that couldn’t be named but could be felt. When he had received the mysterious fire message that indicated Alec needed his help, Magnus had wanted to go; it was only his wariness of Shadowhunters in general that had caused him hesitation.

“You are an enigma, Alexander Lightwood,” Magnus murmured, the beginnings of a smile working at his lips. “I wonder if I’ll get the chance to puzzle you out.” As if hearing his words, Alec murmured something unintelligible and shifted in sleep. The hand around Magnus’ wrist squeezed gently and held firm, refusing to let go.

With a shake of his head and a resolute sigh, Magnus stretched his shoulders and returned to his book as he settled in for a vigilant night.


End file.
